


One Last Time

by ruric



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-12
Updated: 2009-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is addict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

Chris is addict. 

Like every other major realisation in his life it’s taken him a long time to get there and be able to admit it.

These days he can stand in his bathroom in the morning, stare at his reflection in the mirror, look into his own eyes and finally say it out loud.

“Hello. I’m Chris Kane and I’m an addict.”

He’s started practicing those words, morning and night, in the faint hope that admitting it, that saying it out loud repeatedly, hearing it regularly might make it go away.

He has to wind his fingers together sometimes to stop his hands from shaking. His body yearns for it with a bottomless hunger he’s only ever felt for one other thing in his life. There’s a little voice in his head that sure as hell doesn’t come from God or any of his angels that keeps whispering “One more time, just one more time. What would one more time hurt?”

Ten years of self deception takes time to overcome but it’s been months and he’s not making any progress.

That little voice has been getting louder – not so much a whisper any more as a scream – and really would one more time hurt?

So he gets in his truck and drives. 

The closer he gets the tighter the knots in his belly get and his skin’s shrinking, feels like it’s becoming a size too small. Breath gone ragged, mouth dry and his heart’s hammering a tattoo against his ribs as he parks and slams the door closed.

In the time it takes him to walk from the sidewalk to the front door he’s sweating like he’s just run a marathon and he has to curl his hand into a fist to stop the shaking of his fingers.

He pounds on the door and then holds his breath because what if the house is empty? What if....

The door’s pulled open and he’s there, hair mussed, blinking sleepily in the early morning light, bare chested, white cotton pyjama pants riding low on his hips.

“What the fuck time is it?”

Chris glances down at his watch because until now he really didn’t have a clue.

“Seven thirty.”

Steve just stands in the door way looking at him – lets the seconds tick by until Chris can feel the blush flooding his cheeks.

“Huh, seven thirty on a Sunday morning....” Steve drags a hand through the tangle of his hair and rubs at his eyes. “After 9 months. You trying to set a new record or something?”

There are words Chris should say but he doesn’t know where he could possibly start and his tongue feels too clumsy in his mouth to even attempt the most obvious of I’m sorries.

Steve steps back, hips bumping the door wider, his fingers wrapping in the front of Chris’s shirt, tugging him inside.

“Get the fuck in here unless you wanna stand on the step all day?”

One last time can’t hurt. Not if that one last time lasts the rest of their lives.


End file.
